


If They Only Knew, They Would Just Be Jealous of Us

by three_miles



Category: Little Mix (Band), One Direction (Band)
Genre: Drawing, F/M, No Dialogue, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reading, There are tags for everything, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-10-12
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:43:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1001038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/three_miles/pseuds/three_miles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She leans against him, pressing her chest to his back, and watches over his shoulder as he adds dimension and shadow with practiced precision. He smells like Zayn--cigarettes and cardamom and a little cologne--but he smells like her, too, because the only soap in the shower is Perrie’s pomegranate body wash. She nuzzles his neck and he tilts his head a little, allowing it even as he keeps drawing.</p><p>Perrie wonders if he tastes as good as he smells, and then she’s kissing him right there at the soft junction of his neck and his shoulder. Just quick, soft kisses at first, but then she decides to see exactly what it will take to get Zayn to stop drawing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If They Only Knew, They Would Just Be Jealous of Us

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sessahhh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sessahhh/gifts).



> This picture was circulating around twitter last night and I just *love* them and how cute they are together. Sessahhh and I were talking about how they probably just hole up together when they have free time, how they are probably one of those couples who can have long, comfortable silences and be happy just being together, and then this happened. It's not beta'd or brit-picked, just a quick little PWP.
> 
>  

Zayn is on his knees, shirtless, hunched over a huge drawing pad, sketching something with short strokes that make a quiet _scratch scratch scratch_. Perrie likes it, it’s repetitive and relaxing, and the sound doesn’t distract her from her book. It’s a trashy romance novel, nothing thrilling, but she’s luxuriating in having the _time_ to read. 

Through some fluke of scheduling, they both have the week off. Together. In the same country. They haven’t left the house in three days, and it’s bliss. 

Perrie shifts in the big, comfy armchair Zayn dragged into the graffiti room just for her. He got her settled before he started drawing, kissing her cheek and then moving a lamp closer to the chair so she would have enough light. She’s almost too comfortable now, in a pair of soft sleep shorts and one of Zayn’s old t-shirts--she could fall asleep if she set her book down and closed her eyes.

She keeps reading, though, because she has the time for once. She finishes the book before Zayn finishes his sketch--he’s filled up half of the page, but she can’t tell what it is from this angle.

She hops up, stretches her arms over her head, and yawns. There are brownies in the kitchen--they baked them this morning--but she decides she needs a kiss more than she needs a snack. She pads over to where Zayn is still kneeling on the floor and clears a spot for herself right next to him, kicking away a box of colored chalk and a thick, black marker. 

As soon as she kneels down, she can see that he’s drawing a superhero. It’s not one she recognizes, but she notices the face looks a little like Liam’s. She reaches out and strokes the hero’s jawline, avoiding Zayn’s busy hands, and he looks up at her and smiles--it’s meant to be Liam, then.

She leans against him, pressing her chest to his back, and watches over his shoulder as he adds dimension and shadow with practiced precision. He smells like Zayn--cigarettes and cardamom and a little cologne--but he smells like her, too, because the only soap in the shower is Perrie’s pomegranate body wash. She nuzzles his neck and he tilts his head a little, allowing it even as he keeps drawing.

Perrie wonders if he tastes as good as he smells, and then she’s kissing him right there at the soft junction of his neck and his shoulder. Just quick, soft kisses at first, but then she decides to see exactly what it will take to get Zayn to stop drawing.

She slides back slowly, trailing her lips down to his nape and pressing kisses over the fantail bird tattooed there. He’s still drawing, still _scratch, scratch, scratching_ at the superhero, and she smooths her palm down his back before following with her lips. She kisses each vertebrae, each tattoo, each scar, all while Zayn makes precise, short strokes on his sketchpad.

She works her way back up, fingers slipping under the waistband at the side of Zayn’s basketball shorts. She thinks she’s losing the battle--that he’s too absorbed in drawing to be distracted--until she scrapes her teeth over his shoulder blade. That earns her a quiet gasp from Zayn, and she smiles against his skin. 

He tosses his pencil down when she reaches his shoulder again, reaches back and cups his hand over the back of her neck. She giggles and lets him twist in her arms, lets him take control and kiss her long and slow and deep. 

He sits up on his knees and pulls her up with him, wraps his arms around her so they’re pressed close. He’s hard, pressed up against her belly, obviously more affected than he’d let on. She splays her hand over the small of his back and pulls him closer, acknowledging it, and feels him smile against her lips.

Perrie pulls away to have a proper laugh, but Zayn tangles his fingers in her hair and pulls her back in. His kisses get more demanding, his hands roaming her back, and when he cups her arse with both hands she knows what he wants. She lets him lift her, straightens her legs so he can lower her down to the floor, and smiles at Zayn as he lowers himself over her.

She reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck, but Zayn shakes his head once and grabs her left hand, moving her arm so it’s stretched out over her head. She moves the other arm on her own, dropping it to the floor as well, and gives up touching Zayn to let him have his way for the moment. He kisses down her throat, nudges the stretched-out collar of his t-shirt away so he can kiss the pale skin underneath.

When he slides down to kiss her breasts over the soft cotton, his fingers slip under the leg of her shorts, drawing circles on the sensitive skin at her hip. He breathes hot over her nipple, sensitive even through the t-shirt, and Perrie growls in frustration when he avoids direct contact and moves on to her stomach. 

She reaches down and grabs the hem of the shirt, pulls it up and off quickly before Zayn can protest. He rolls his eyes at her and she drops her arms back over her head, smiling sweetly at him.

He spends a long time kissing the flat plane of her stomach, nudging the waistband of her shorts down with his chin. She lifts her hips, wanting him to take them off, but he surges back up to suck her nipple into his mouth instead. She gasps and reaches up to hold him there, fingers twisting in the back of his hair. 

She loves the way he knows her body--knows how long to nibble and tug at her nipples before she needs soothing kisses and soft licks. She loves the way he spends just as much time kisses the soft undersides of her breasts because he knows it makes her crazy. She loves the happy noises he makes when she pulls at his hair, redirecting him when she wants more attention on one side or the other. 

The next time she lifts her hips, Zayn tugs her shorts down without hesitation. She kicks them off the rest of the way and watches as Zayn does the same before sitting up on his knees again. She bends her knees and cradles him between her thighs, reaches up to trace her favorite tattoos while he strokes himself slowly. 

She presses two fingers to his lips, laughs when he sucks them into his mouth and hollows out his cheeks. He’s hard and leaking, his cock thick and ready for her, and she pulls her fingers out of his mouth to stroke down the length of his shaft once. He shudders, leaning in closer, and she reaches down to get herself ready. 

Zayn is mesmerized at the sight of it--Perrie’s fingers tracing the soft, pink, wet of her pussy, circling her clit a few times because she can’t resist, because she needs to. He traces the same pattern with his fingers, stopping to push them inside and drag them out slowly, perfectly.

He’s good with his hands--with his mouth, too--and usually he makes her come at least once before he’ll fuck her. They’re both impatient this time, though, and Perrie reaches up for his cock and guides him closer. He hooks an arm under her knee to lift her leg a little, to get the angle she likes best, and she smooths her hands up his sides in appreciation. 

He’s gentle at first. Long, slow thrusts to warm her up, his head ducking down to nip at her lips and her throat. He doesn’t give her any more until she asks for it, until she wraps her hands around his waist and pulls him in harder, faster. He complies easily, hooking her leg over his shoulder and pressing forward, slipping his other hand between them to press his thumb against her clit. He always teases her, calls that his signature move, and she just laughs because she’s the one who taught him how to do it.

She holds him tight when she comes, fingernails digging into the skin of his back, her eyes wide open and locked with his. He fucks her through it, waits until she relaxes her grip and catches her breath before shifting positions, lowering her leg to the floor and dropping down to rest on his forearms. 

She kisses his neck and nibbles at his ear as he speeds up, changing his rhythm to one that works better for him. It still feels good, Perrie still loves it, but she won’t come from this. Zayn, though, only lasts another minute before he’s thrusting hard, biting down on Perrie’s shoulder and groaning through his orgasm. 

He falls flat, resting against her for a minute to catch his breath, and she strokes his back soothingly. When he lifts himself up again, he brushes her hair back from her face and looks into her eyes. She grins and lifts her head to bump his nose with hers, and then he’s grinning too. 

Zayn rolls to his side and hisses when he lands on a paintbrush. Perrie laughs and pulls it out from underneath him, tossing it to the side. He finds their clothes, pulls Perrie’s shorts up over her legs before he puts his own back on. She pulls his t-shirt on over her head again and nudges Zayn back towards his drawing. He kisses her forehead and moves back to study what he’d been working on. 

Perrie cleans herself up in the bathroom and stops in the bedroom to grab a new book from her bag. She grabs some snacks from the kitchen and a bottle of water, then brings it all back to the graffiti room. 

“Thanks,” Zayn says, opening the water she hands him. “Y’alright, babe?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand.

“Yeah,” she says, bending down to kiss his cheek. “I’m good.”


End file.
